


there's always room for one more

by ednae



Category: IDOLiSH7 (Video Game)
Genre: Comfort, Established Relationship, Multi, Polyamory, spoilers for part 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-09-01 22:40:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16774348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ednae/pseuds/ednae
Summary: It seems fitting that the only ones who can cause the world, and with it the scandals and rumors and lies, to melt away are the very same people his agency was slandering just last year.





	there's always room for one more

**Author's Note:**

> "polythag, but gaku is there" is such a good concept and the fact that i had to create the tag for that ship is a crime, actually. anyway this is the only way i know how to cope with the crippling pain and depression inflicted upon me from part 3

Gaku used to love the summer. He’s never much liked the cold, and he likes all the activities that come along with the season: swimming, fishing, going to the beach, even just strolling through an open-air market in nothing but a tank-top and shorts with his hair clipped back.

Last year, the disastrous scandal with NATSU☆Shiyouze! pretty much ruined every good association he ever had with summer.

This year, though, it feels so much worse. The heat is stifling and the pavement seems to melt the soles of his shoes and sear his feet with every step he takes. He’s sweating buckets, and he knows he’ll have to take at least three showers before the day ends. It feels like the sun has eyes boring into the back of his head, watching his every step so it knows exactly where to direct the brunt of its force.

Wait, no. It’s not the sun. It’s the paparazzi. They’re following him, yet again, and he can’t even do anything about it. He has to play the fool, act like everything’s okay when it’s obviously _not,_ pretend like the past few weeks haven’t even happened.

He grits his teeth and balls his fists, tucking his chin a little lower.

He wants to blame Ryuu for this, since technically his meddling with Hanamaki Sumire started this whole mess, but Gaku knows that if Ryuu hadn’t started it, either he or Tenn would have. It would have only been a matter of time, especially with the rumors about him and Tsumugi—ah, _Takanashi_ —spreading within the industry.

Even the tiny sigh that manages to escape his pursed lips is enough to set him on edge, his shoulders tight and his heart rate speeding up. If the photographers think the smallest thing is off about him, they’ll have a dozen new scathing articles published by tomorrow morning.

At this, he realizes just how bad this has gotten. The media is positively itching to tear him and TRIGGER down at any turn at this point, all of the bastards riding on the wave of scandal and sensationalist journalism. Even people within the industry have become nothing but cowards, offering only the barest of apologetic looks even as they help rip them apart at every turn.

He wonders why he even bothered leaving his house. If he wasn’t under Anesagi’s strict orders to act as normal as possible, he probably would have called someone to go pick up the milk he’s carrying in his hand.

But he can’t just keep going and let the photographers do whatever they please with the pictures they’re taking. He’s sure there’s _something_ incriminating about this scene he’s set. Maybe he’ll wake up tomorrow to find that he’s engaged in some milk-related murder, poisoned a poor, unsuspecting actress with spoiled milk. Or he beat an excited fan over the head in his rage because he’s emotionally unstable and too hot-headed.

They’ll think of something.

Whatever the prospects may be, he has to lose them. Somehow.

Without so much as moving his head, he glances around and takes in his surroundings, quickly forming a mental map of the area. He’s taken this route a few times before even if it’s not his regular, since he was _trying_ to shake off any reporters. So it only takes him a few moments to realize—

Oh. That’s where he’ll go.

His mom’s soba shop is just a couple blocks over. He can hide there until the photographers get bored and leave him alone. Maybe he’ll get some lunch while he’s at it.

He veers right at the next intersection, picking up his pace the closer he gets to Soba Shop Yamamura. Just a few more minutes, and he’ll be free of the flashing lights and the incessant clicking of camera shutters.

It’s not until he’s on the street that he realizes that going into his mother’s shop would be _the absolute worst idea._ He doesn’t want the press to start pestering his mom’s side of the family, too. He _really_ doesn’t want his family situation to end up in the tabloids.

So then, where to go. He can’t stop walking now; he has to act natural. He can’t turn around or he’ll be face-to-face with those obnoxious reporters. He has to find something, somewhere he can go without ruining his mom’s life and forcing her into the public eye.

The sigh he lets out this time is a lot heavier, but it doesn’t quite spike his nerves as much as before. He knows where he can go, and he’s relieved.

He turns left instead of right this time, and by the time he sees the nondescript dorm buildings, the camera shutters have started to fade away just a little.

It’s either because they’re not popular enough yet, or because they’ve done a great job at shaking off the press from their home, but reporters don’t tend to gather around here. Gaku can’t recall a single time when anyone in IDOLiSH7 ever complained about reporters at their dorm, so they must not have found it yet. Or they don’t care.

EIther way, it’s convenient enough for him.

The hallway that leads to their dorm is brightly lit and welcoming, with carpeted floors and simple furnishings creating a homey atmosphere. In here, Gaku can no longer hear the cameras or the footsteps following him, and he finally lets himself relax knowing he’s shaken them off of him.

After all, it’s just a simple dorm building. If they can’t get pictures of him, they can’t spin wild stories about him to smear his name, and TRIGGER’s with it.

He hesitates when he comes to the door he knows belongs to IDOLiSH7. According to them, he’s never set foot in here before. Obviously, that’s a lie to keep his alter ego safe, but they don’t know that. Or rather, he hopes they don’t know that.

He spends the next minute trying to spin a concoction of a tale to feed them—Tenn told them where the dorm is, and he wanted to stop by and bring them some milk. It’s an unacceptably late housewarming present; he’s never been great at gift-giving.

No, that’s stupid.

He’s terrible at this. He’s impulsive and hot-headed, just like Tenn always complains about. He’s not used to this whole “think before you act” thing, and it’s really starting to wear him thin. His brain is so burnt out from overthinking every single action he makes that he’s absolutely sure whatever half-baked excuse he can stir up will sound like he’s some kind of stalker, or a total freak at best.

Coming here was a bad idea. The reprieve from the photographers was nice; just this much was all he needed. He can handle them now. He should just leave now, save IDOLiSH7 the trouble, and put up with the reporters until he can get home.

The door swings open before he even has a chance to move.

“Yaotome-san,” Iori greets, staring him straight in the eye with the utmost bored expression plastered clearly on his face. “You’ve been muttering to yourself outside our door for the last five minutes. Are you all right?”

Shit. Had he been talking out loud? Now they’ll _never_ invite him in. “I, uh. I brought you milk.”

He holds out the carton awkwardly, his arm stiff as a board while the milk swings gently from side to side. Iori stares at it, then stares at him, then goes back to the milk. “We don’t need any milk.”

“Right.” He puts the carton back at his side and looks anywhere except at the younger Izumi brother. “Of course. I should, uh, I should get going then—”

“Did you really come here just to give us milk?” Iori asks, raising a highly unamused eyebrow.

“It’s a housewarming gift.” Fuck. It sounds even worse out loud.

“We’ve lived here for almost a year and a half, Yaotome-san.”

“I know that!” He has to struggle to keep his voice down.

Iori looks doubtful, but he holds his hand out anyway. “Thank you for the present, then.”

Gaku freezes up for a moment before realizing he’s _actually_ accepting the milk. Almost too quickly, he shoves the carton into Iori’s hands, and he feels his face heat up when Iori has to scramble to get a decent grip on it.

“Are you coming in, then?” Iori steps to the side, expecting Gaku to cross the threshold, and though a thousand shitty excuses pop up in his mind, he takes a step forward into the dorm instead.

“Thanks for inviting me in,” he says honestly, ignoring the pressure that lifts off his shoulders and the breaths that seem to come a little more easily.

“If you’re looking for my brother, he’s in his room with Rokuya-san and Nikaidou-san,” Iori says, gesturing down the hallway to the side of the main room. “Rokuya-san has them binge-watching another season of _Magical★Kokona.”_

Gaku stills, his fingers picking at his pants legs. “Why do you assume I’m here for those three?”

Iori’s gaze is somehow knowing, but he answers evenly, without a hint of any particular interest. “You’ve spent a lot of time with them since the Zero Arena reopening ceremony.”

“I see.”

“And currently, the rest of the group is out of the dorm, anyway,” Iori adds a moment later. “So your choices are limited. I can’t imagine you’re here to see me.”

“Oh.” Gaku shifts his weight, not sure what to say. His gaze flickers back to the hallway where the bedrooms are. “Then…”

Iori waves his hand to dismiss him. “It was nice seeing you, Yaotome-san. Please give my regards to TRIGGER.”

Gaku nods stiffly before scurrying down the hallway, glancing at the doors as he passes by them. Some are decorated to suit each member’s personal style, and he can guess which ones belong to Tamaki, Riku, and Nagi. Others are completely bare, without any hint of personality to them. He imagines they would belong to Yamato and Iori.

The door he stops in front of has a few sparkly stars taped on it, sloppily cut out by hand from some scrapbook paper. It’s endearing and unique, and Gaku is quirking up a smile before he realizes it himself.

He knocks on the door a few times, loud enough to be heard over the roaring action scene playing inside the room. He doesn’t wait even ten seconds before the door flies open and he’s face-to-face with Yamato, his bored expression gradually morphing into a curious one.

“Yaotome?” he asks, eyebrows knitting together as he looks him up and down, as if trying to determine if he’s real or not.

“Yaotome-shi is here?” Nagi’s voice calls from within the dark room. Gaku can just barely make out a huddled mass of blankets and bodies on the floor, all piled together as they watch the anime. Nagi’s head is poking out from the mound, his hair messy and undone in a casual look Gaku has never seen on him before.

He’s suddenly very, very nervous about being here.

“Yo,” he says, his voice clipped and strained even with just the one syllable.

Mitsuki’s head pops up next, his hair even messier than Nagi’s. Now that he’s gotten a good look at all three of them, he realizes that _all_ of their hair is messy, still in their pajamas even at three in the afternoon, and Yamato’s glasses are skewed on his face, like he’s hastily thrown them on to answer the door.

“Dude, you look like shit. You okay?” Mitsuki is, as usual, not one to skirt around the issue. Maybe it’s for the best.

“Oh! Mitsuki, that’s rude. Beautiful men don’t like to be told when they look like shit,” Nagi scolds lightly, but his arms reach over Mitsuki’s shoulders and he leans forward onto his head, holding him loosely.

And intimately. Very, very intimately.

“Am I—” Gaku clears his throat and tries again. “Am I interrupting something?”

Yamato smirks. “Not at all. Come on in.”

Before Gaku can even think to refuse, he’s being ushered inside the room, the door closing behind him with a loud _click._

“Get in the fort,” Mitsuki instructs. He holds his arms out toward Yamato, who practically makes a slow-motion nose dive straight into the waiting embrace. In the dull light emitting from the flickering TV, Gaku can see a content smile on Yamato’s face as he snuggles back under the blankets and into Mitsuki’s arms.

“You too, Yaotome-shi.” Nagi’s tone leaves absolutely no wiggle room, and with a sigh Gaku drops down to the floor, making sure to keep a copious amount of space between himself and the tangle of limbs that Pythagoras Trio has turned into.

“Now tell us what’s on your mind,” Yamato drawls out, slowly and sweetly, as if he were flirting with some pretty girl rather than trying to wrench out Gaku’s insecurities.

“What?” Gaku asks, subconsciously leaning away from them. He definitely didn’t come here to talk about his problems. He just wanted to get away from the paparazzi for a little while.

“There are no secrets in the cuddle fort,” Nagi explains, as if that’s supposed to make any amount of sense.

“I’m not in the cuddle fort,” Gaku insists, pushing himself a little bit more off of the blankets to prove his point.

“Joke’s on you; this whole room counts as the cuddle fort,” Mitsuki insists, as if _that’s_ supposed to make any amount of sense.

“Obviously I came at a bad time,” Gaku says, placing his palms flat on the floor to push himself up.

But Yamato, the bastard, swings his legs up and sets them down on Gaku’s lap, holding him firmly in place. “You’re fine, you’re fine,” he says, smiling innocently at him. “But really, what’s going on with you? You look stressed as hell.”

He hesitates a moment before finally giving in. It’s not like he can go anywhere, as it is. “It’s nothing serious. Just the scandals and the media. You know all about it.” He chuckles dryly in an attempt to dismiss it all, but even now he can feel his heart rate pick up, each beat pounding against his chest like a drum. There’s a pit in his stomach that aches and throbs with each pulse of anxiety that courses through him.

He hopes that this smear campaign dies down soon, if only so that he doesn’t end up with permanent organ damage.

Yamato hums knowingly but doesn’t say more. Mitsuki, though, leans forward, jerking out from Nagi’s hug and letting him fall into Mitsuki’s back with a pitiful groan. “I still can’t believe there are people doing this to you guys!” Mitsuki shouts, slamming his fist into the plush blankets under him.

“It’s—it’s fine, Izumi,” Gaku tries, his eyes wide as he witnesses Mitsuki’s anger. “You don’t have to get so worked up about it.”

“But I do!” he insists with a huff. “You’re all our friends and rivals. I feel so helpless knowing we can’t do anything to stop this whole mess.”

“Just knowing you support us is enough,” Gaku says, hoping that it’ll be enough to deflate him.

It seems to work, even though there’s still a distinct anger simmering just beneath the surface. “It’s not fair. TRIGGER works so hard, and yet…”

“It sucks for sure, but there’s nothing we can do about it right now,” Yamato says, leaning back into Mitsuki’s lap and stretching out further. “Hey, Yaotome, get a little closer. My feet are gonna fall off your lap if you stay so far away.”

Gaku wonders at what point he consented to being Yamato’s footrest, but against his better judgment he shuffles back onto the blankets, close enough that he can feel the heat radiating out from the three bodies there.

Nagi hums, long and drawn out like a sigh as he shuffles around Mitsuki and Yamato so that he’s between them and Gaku. He rests his arms on Gaku’s shoulders—or rather, he snakes them around his neck and laces his fingers together, holding them in place. He moves slowly, as if giving Gaku time to reject any of his advances, but he’s frozen in place, watching with a slack jaw as Nagi comes closer and closer. He’s once again stricken by how utterly beautiful Nagi is. “Yaotome-shi.”

He’s taken aback by the sudden seriousness of Nagi’s tone, enough to jerk him out of the stupor he seems to have fallen into. “Y–yeah?”

“Are you happy?”

It’s an odd question, made even stranger given that he says it in English. He’s not sure how he’s supposed to answer it, or even what language he’s supposed to answer in. But then again, he only knows enough of English to just barely understand what Nagi said in the first place, so maybe he should stick with Japanese regardless.

“Ah, he’s pulling that bullshit again,” Yamato whines from behind Nagi, and Gaku can just barely see him flopping over and pressing his face into Mitsuki’s waiting arms. “Make him stop, Mitsu.”

“You’re just mad because he made you feel like crap after I punched you.” Mitsuki’s voice is soothing, and he absentmindedly strokes his fingers through Yamato’s hair as he watches Nagi carefully.

Gaku isn’t sure he wants to know what Yamato and Mitsuki are referring to, so he redirects his attention back to Nagi, with his bedhead fallen freely in his face and his captivating blue eyes still sparkling even in the dark. He swallows.

Neither choice is good, it seems.

“Yaotome-shi,” Nagi repeats, urging him to answer.

“Uh…” He’s still not sure what he’s supposed to say. But when he opens his mouth, the words seem to pour out like a cold one with the boys. “I’m worried about TRIGGER, and about Ryuu and Tenn. I don’t know who’s starting these rumors and setting these traps, and I don’t know when it’ll calm down. I’m having trouble sleeping because I can’t stop stressing about our future. I just want it all to stop.”

When he doesn’t continue, Nagi smiles sadly. “We can’t fix these problems for you.”

Gaku’s eyes widen and he shakes his head vigorously. “No, no! I wasn’t trying to push this on you guys, I promise.”

“That’s not what he means,” Mitsuki says, still running his fingers through Yamato’s hair. “I mean, yeah, obviously we can’t fix it for you, but that’s not the point.”

Nagi nods. “We can’t solve the problems you’re facing, but we can offer you comfort. Would you like to join us?”

“Join you?” Gaku narrows his eyes suspiciously.

“In the cuddle fort,” Yamato clarifies, his voice muffled in Mitsuki’s arms. Mitsuki giggles in turn. Yamato picks his head up just enough to be heard more clearly. “Just for now, or for as long as you’d like, really.”

“I… what?” Gaku asks, not even sure he’s heard them correctly. Join them? In the… cuddle fort? He’s still not even sure what the hell that _is._

“This is our cuddle fort,” Mitsuki explains slowly, like he’s talking to a child. Gaku’s starting to believe he’s missed something incredibly important here. “We cuddle here. Nagi watches anime. We complain about him watching the same episodes five times in a row. Sometimes we have sex—”

“What?!”

“—but you didn’t need to know that,” Mitsuki finishes.

“We’re offering you an exclusive spot in the fort for the low, low price of free,” Yamato continues. “Maybe it’s because you’re the Number One Most Desired Embrace In Japan. I’d love to see if you live up to it.” He ends his sentence in a purr, more suggestive than Gaku was expecting. Although, considering what Mitsuki just revealed, maybe he should be less surprised.

His throat is suddenly dry and his heart is beating too fast. It’s not from the anxiety this time.

“Are you guys…” Gaku doesn’t want to put it in words, but he forces himself to anyway. “Confessing to me?”

“Something like that,” Yamato says with a nod, dropping his head back into Mitsuki’s lap.

“If you say you have never thought about us in such a way, I will call your bluff,” Nagi says, pulling himself just a little closer to Gaku. “For one, I am beautiful. To both women _and_ men.”

“We know, we get it already,” Mitsuki gripes from behind him. “Besides, even Iori has noticed you hanging out with us more.”

“It’s fine if you’re not interested,” Yamato says. “But the offer’s out there now. Nagi just thought you could use some comfort right about now.”

The idea is… not _un_ appealing. In fact, the more Gaku deliberates his answer, the more he finds himself drawn to the three people in front of him. They didn’t say anything incorrect, either.

Maybe they hit the nail on the head there, or maybe Gaku is just in desperate need for someone to tell him it’s going to be okay, but he takes a shaky breath and voices his answer.

“Are you sure that’s okay…?” Gaku asks hesitantly, eying the three of them. “I don’t want to impose or anything.”

“There’s always room for one more,” Nagi assures him with the softest smile he’s ever seen on the guy’s face, and then Gaku’s being pulled down into the mess of blankets and tangle of limbs, splayed atop Yamato and across Nagi’s lap.

It’s warm, like summer, and the heat of all three of their bodies seems to melt away his anxiety and soothe the pit in his stomach until all he can feel are long fingers threading through his hair and the gentle heartbeats that create a steady rhythm, washing away his worries and replacing them with comfort and love.

**Author's Note:**

> please cry about m4tsuri with me on twt [@polythagoras](http://twitter.com/polythagoras)


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